Eyes
by Tince
Summary: The Girl, the Merc, The Couch. Trouble? -*A generous helping of Rayne.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Boss. Joss. Yeah... you get it.

A/N: The writing beast has taken over! Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews and encouragement :D

So - this story is going to be a little shorter than the previous ones but _maybe/possibly/potentially/probably_... there might be a Part Two. We'll see...

Without further ado, I present: Lesson #5 in _The Anatomy Series_. Enjoy :)

**Eyes**

by Tince

Jayne Cobb wasn't sure if he could move his neck.

...or his left leg. Or right arm.

Yeah, his whole body really.

'Cause as of right now, there was 'bout ninety pounds of tiny, sweet-smelling, gorgeous girl on his left and she was _on the move_.

_Closer. To him._

If he had to pin it down, he'd say it had all started when he'd bought those crates of apples for Ri-_the crew_. He'd had a conversation (still made him feel _sick_ with anger, if he thought on it too much) with the Doc a couple of weeks ago and that's when it had begun.

Ever since that night (following the Doc's horrible story), no matter where he was, no matter what he was doing - you could bet your last grenade that Ri-the Girl would be there as well. Dancing, eating an apple, humming under her breath. Watching him.

He still wasn't 100% sure what she was doing.

...but he was almost 100% sure he didn't want her to stop.

So he didn't bother tellin' her off after the first couple days, ignorin' Zoe's raised eyebrows, and 'Nara sly smile, and Mal's suspicious glances. As long as she stayed quiet(-ish), he didn't waste his time tellin' her off. Not like she'd listen to him anyway.

But, if he had to choose, he'd say that the strangest part of this new routine was what happened after dinner every night. In the last couple of months, the ship's arsenal had grown so large, he'd had to split up the maintenance over the week. This meant that for a few hours every night, you could find him sittin' on the couch in the common area, strippin' and cleanin' the guns.

And 'cause of the Girl's new habit of joinin' him everywhere 'cept the shower n' his bunk (_Wo de ma_... he wasn't going to think about that) - she'd plopped herself down next to him in the evenings too. It had started that first night after his and the Doc's talk, and hadn't stopped since.

Sometimes she asked questions and he'd grunt a response, or she'd help if he was workin' with a lot parts - handin' him the oil or a cloth - but for the most part, he'd work and she'd read a book.

It was quiet. Calm. Peaceful.

...he'd almost passed out the first couple of times it had happened, he was so uncomfortable.

Not _uncomfortable_ like he used to be 'round her, scared she was going to go crazy and murder him (he figured if she hadn't done it yet, it was unlikely she'd do it now) - but this time, he was more uncomfortable as to why she was sittin' there. And why he really, _really_ didn't mind so much.

Then there was the not-so-small problem that he wanted to look at her. And he meant _really_ look at her. It was like every time she was around or in the room, his eyes couldn't help but find her (and he sure as hell didn't want to think about _why_).

Still, he knew that would lead to some embarrassin' behaviour - _lookin_' really hard at someone was usually followed by _starin' _really hard at someone - and he just didn't need the trouble... or the questions.

So he avoided eye-contact and face-contact and hair-contact and every other pretty part o'hers he wanted to look at (along with a couple of other things that weren't limited to just _lookin'_), and just tried to make it through the hours with her sittin' next to him, smellin' too damn good and drivin' him out'ta his ruttin' mind. He was Jayne Cobb, gorramit - and _hell_ if he was gonna leave. _She_ could leave if'n she wanted to (and it_ pissed. him. off _that half of him hoped she would, and half hoped she wouldn't).

But after countless evenings, he learn'd to focus on the mix'd smells of gun oil and apples, and eventually - he relaxed.

It was almost kinda..._ nice_, havin' her there - as company, that was. He'd clean the guns, strippin' and reassemblin', and he'd hear her soft, shallow breaths and the turnin' of her book's pages 'n that was all.

He still wouldn't look at her directly, but after enough time spent in a closed space - he did allow himself to think about her without immediately feelin' guilty. 'Cause whenever he had... uh, _thoughts _about her in private - he'd feel like a dirty, ol' _hun dan_ and so he'd try _not_ to think about her - but he would anyway - and it all gave him _a r__uttin' headache_. All the hidin' and feelin' guilty was startin' to take a toll on him, but he reasoned, if she were_ right there_, sittin' in front'ta him... how could he _not_ think about her? Only natural. It was completely normal, completely (okay, _mostly_)_ innocent_.

_Until now._

...'cause the Girl had obviously gotten wind of the fact that he had finally managed to not make a fool of hisself when she was around, and was now doin' her damndest to ruin it by _killin' him._

He could feel his entire body stiffen up as he heard the soft rustling of - rather than saw (he_ wasn't_ gonna look at her, he was _not_) - her moving closer.

And then he felt it.

He'd been sitting with his legs spread in front of him, an oily cloth spread across his knees and various parts laid out, and _now _there was very clearly, a warm, pretty girl pressed up snugly against _his entire left side_ - shoulder to waist to hip to knee.

_Ruttin' hell._

He realised his hands had stopped what they were doing sometime ago, and he'd been frozen in place like an idiot since she had started shiftin' over. So he carefully (he didn't want to _jostle_ her or nothin') and slowly picked up the part he had been workin' on (maybe it was the same part - he couldn't remember much) and went back to cleanin' it.

A few minutes later, he felt a feather-light brush against his arm and then he was surrounded by what he'd come to realize was the very _distinctive_ smell of River's hair, as she moved her head closer to his body. Not even realizin' that he had been holdin' his breath, he waited for her to move back - figurin' she had been adjustin' herself on the couch.

...but she didn't move back.

And when he was pretty sure she wasn't goin' to anytime soon, he slowly released the breath (_casually_, of course) - and he couldn't help notin' with, no small amount of pleasure, that her small body moved_ just__ slightly_ with his at the action.

In a few seconds, he brought his focus back to the weapons in front of him (he was gettin' better at recoverin' from_ her_) and resumed his work - 'cept this time, he didn't even_ try_ to fight it when he could feel the corners of his mouth turnin' up.

And if anyone said that it took him almost three times as long to finish with the guns that night... well, he'd deny it till the day he died.

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><p><span>AN: Reviews are - as always - much appreciated... and highly motivational ;P


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Thank you so much for the encouraging response to Eyes: Part One! I'm so sorry for the delay - as I had planned to churn Part Two out within the same week - but y'know, 'the best laid plans' and all that nonsense. Regardless, if you're still reading... apologies and thank you for sticking around.

Anyway, it's done now.

And I like to think that's what counts ;)

**Eyes**

by Tince

River Tam wiggled her toes in preparation.

She had a divine imperative and she was going to fulfill it.

The plan involved a three-stage attack (and she couldn't help but think of it in anything other than such_ aggressive_ terms, which considering its target wasn't that much of a surprise).

Stage One: Shift _eversoslightly_ to the right towards an uncomfortable and paranoid mercenary, pretending to clean his guns and avoiding eye contact.

Stage Two: Cause minimal disturbance to the seated merc in the execution of Stage One. This would be a little trickier to achieve than the movement itself, considering said mercenary was arguably one of the best trackers in the 'verse and noticed everything (well,_ almost_ everything, she though in wry amusement), and was more-than-a-little wary in her presence. With good reason, she couldn't help but smirk to herself.

Stage Three: Establish and then maintain maximum physical contact for as long as possible to achieve/fulfill The Objective.

Now as to what exactly The Objective was... River couldn't say. She could feel them moving towards it - together - slowly but surely and purposefully, as if it was the inevitable, unstoppable and the way in which things were supposed to fall into place. But what exactly it was, or what it looked like, she didn't know. All she knew was that, in this moment, achieving Stage 3 would lead her - them - closer to The Objective.

And besides, she wanted to touch him - to see, to _feel_ for herself.

It had been like a special, oddly pleasurable kind of torture these past few months. Every time he looked at her - in what she thought was the way only _he_ could - it was like she could feel his thoughts, caressing her, wrapping around her. Whatever _it _was that was growing between them - either he'd started thinking about her more or she'd started paying more attention to his internal Voice amongst the chatter... but she could feel the whisps of his thoughts, curling in and around her, in an acutely intimate way.

And it wasn't like when she would Read people - they weren't formed, complete thoughts, so much as the fragments and feels of _emotions_. The difference between a sentence and a song, she liked to think. But even that didn't feel _right_...didn't do justice to the sensation.

So after he'd brought her those apples (she knew they were for her, even if he tried to deny it), she'd tried to pin it down. What he made her feel exactly... and whether they were her feelings or his feelings or a little bit of both. He'd tried to avoid her at first, seemingly afraid to look at her, but after countless days and nights in her presence, he seemed to accept it as the inevitable and relax... a little bit.

And now, just like before, she could feel the waves and eddies of his thoughts move around her. Like she had tried to explain to the crew multiple times, the way emotions affected her... it was imprecise, unintentional and indescribable. When she wasn't trying to Read them and they still seeped in, it was because sometimes when they were very strong, too much to contain in just one head... they floated out.

His thoughts swam around her, altogether warm and somewhat sharp - but she wasn't sure exactly what they meant. She'd figured that closer physical proximity coupled with touch would illuminate the contents of his emotions (as well as heighten the sensations it caused). And so she waited as long as she could, remembering not to hold her body too still, to breathe in and out calmly, and when the tension ebbed from his body (she liked that could always just _feel_ his physical movements, like they were too big and purposeful to be confined to just the visual sense), she made her move.

And all at once, she was pressed against his entire left side - shoulder to waist to hip to knee - and all she could think (in a voice that sounded strangely like the man's sitting next to her) was _Ruttin' hell._

She'd expected to feel an amplification of his thoughts but she hadn't expected the same of her emotions. The warmth of his thoughts became _heat _and she felt that heat all over, spreading through her very veins. She could feel his breath speed up somewhat and his body go rigid, as if expecting her to move back, as if it were all an accident.

Before her courage failed her (and for some reason, she felt like it could at any moment), she moved her head closer and settled in. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than a few seconds, she felt him release a breath, moving her slightly with it (which made her inordinately pleased, though she couldn't have said why).

In a few moments, he went back to cleaning the weapons and she closed her eyes, to focus on _him_ around her.

Maybe it was the fact that she had been waiting for an opportunity like this for weeks, maybe it was the feel of his bicep brushing against her side, maybe it was because it smelled like gun oil and leather and _Jayne_, but all of sudden she could see it all, see it like they were _her_ thoughts.

_He wanted her_.

Wanted her like _she_ - all at once, realising and accepting easily - _wanted him_.

And she could see it there, emotions and thoughts suspended in time, memories and fragments of her... _everywhere. _

_She was dancing; she was laughing with Kaylee; she was staring at him and he was trying desperately not to stare back; she was stripping a gun and cleaning it; she was smiling cheekily at him with his stolen hat plopped on her head; she was sitting in the cargo bay eating an apple... she was kissing him on the cheek, the scent of apples and gratitude in the air._

And so she sat, eyes closed, and breathed it all - breathed _him_ and _her _and_ them - _in.

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><p><span>AN: So this is likely a fair bit less intelligible than Part One, which I justified on the grounds that Riv is a little more... erm, _emotionally expressive_ than Jayne (as opposed to reflective of my scattered mental state). And I also like to think that River just gets it a lot faster than Jayne and doesn't fight it.

Reviewers get a 'Jayne' of their own, to scare/startle/seduce as needed (or wanted).


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